For the Sake of the Kids

I didn't expect it to happen. I have low expectations these days when it comes to anything having to do with my First Wife. I took the kids to Little Minyan for Kol Nidre. Bought them some new clothes and shoes. Warned Eva. Since this is usually her stomping grounds. Our daughter asked her once, Is is ok if Mama takes us to services at Little Minyan sometimes too? As if it's something I need permission for. Like I said, I went with low expectations. This was one of those times I had to put on Katie Perry's Firework for the car ride, just to give me a breath of self-confidence. 
Everyone recognizes my kids so I was forced to introduce myself: The Other Mom. Jessica, the sort of rabbi, who was once my friend but defriended me and was the "spiritual leader" of my First Wife's second wedding, gave me a half-hearted wave. Then services began. Luckily my son was tired because he stayed beside me the whole time and I really needed that. We discovered little pieces of paper (for notes?) in the pew in front of us and he spent the entire time doing origami. I showed him how to make a frog.  Eva and Amy appeared about five minutes after everything started. They sat behind me where Georgia and Scarlett had already established themselves, having checked with me that they could escape if they got bored. When Stella saw them, she left me to go curl up in her Ema's lap. I have to admit: I am petty. I decided right before services (and even made a point to TELL God) that even though I know I am supposed to pray for the ability to forgive Amy, forget it, I'm never forgiving her. Especially if she never acknowledges she did anything wrong to me. And Eva refuses to forgive me. And now I can't forgive her for not forgiving me and yes, it's an endless circle of rat poison. (Anne Lamott says Not Forgiving someone is like eating the rat poison and waiting for the rat to die.) That was my state of mind pre-Kol Nidre. Nope. No Way. Hardened Heart. Not Gonna Do It.  

In case you don't know, pretty much the whole point of this holiday is atonement and forgiveness. Jews don't go to confession year round; we starve ourselves and stand up in services for fifty hours in a row, praying for forgiveness and the ability to forgive others. I practiced the previous ten years but I knew this year was only a physical show. For the sake of the kids.  
There was this super long piano and cello solo. Beautiful and all. But c'mon. Really? And we had to stand for the whole thing. I was like, WHAT is the point of making us stand for twenty minutes? As soon as I asked the question, I quickly answered myself - I know, I know: To make us focus. And perhaps to make us sorry. Really Really Sorry. But sheesh. I finally gave Zeke permission to sit. With his origami frogs. I didn't realize it at the time, only made the connection later, but it was on the last note, the very last strung out cello note, the denouement, the final settling of the song that my heart softened the teensiest bit. A crack where the light came in. I thought, Well at least that last note made standing the whole time sort of worth it. Ok, we got to finally sit down for a minute. But then they had a kid open the Ark and stand with The Torah for the eternity of reading the community Kol Nidre. Back to more standing.

For most of this reading, I worried about the kid, standing there forever with the weight of The Torah. It was a back and forth, call and response thing. Sometimes readers happened in the congregation, quite spontaneously, but the last reading was done together. It built us up to forgiving "vows we could not keep." That's when I started to pay attention. Vows. We. Could. Not. Keep. And then the last paragraph, I suddenly became aware: We are standing only a few feet away from each other, reading aloud a prayer for forgiveness and for the ability to forgive. And I know Eva. Better than even The New Wife. We stood next to each other reciting these prayers for 12 years. I know she is reading out loud too. And together we are reading out loud in a sacred space with a Minyan of Jews. And perhaps even beginning a new set of vows. Of course I started to cry. Because I always fucking cry. When we sat down, I put my arm around my son and smiled through the tears at the plague of frogs littering the church pew. A friend tells me: Forgiveness isn't easy. Hearing people say things out loud in front of a congregation that they need forgiveness when I believe that YES..YOU NEED TO ASK FORGIVENESS FOR THIS YOU PRICK..is powerful. And the person saying it knows that I know that I need to forgive and be forgiven. And then, I start, a little, to forgive. Some things can never truly be forgiven, but like with all mitzvot, the more I practice the "easier" it becomes. A deep sigh. I realize forgiveness is more like acceptance. Never warm and fuzzy. It all started with my acceptance of my obligation (to take my kids to this service) and moved to ACCEPTANCE and then God nudges us in the right direction: Stop swallowing the rat poison.

We left not too long after. Stella complaining that she needed to go to bed. And I was a little less angry than when I arrived.

Ring the bell that still can ring.

There's a crack in everything.

That's how the light gets in......

Stolen Cell Phone, Part 3

The next morning I placed my cell phone in the middle of the dining room table where it was sure to be seen.

 My kids are pretty good about getting up in the morning and taking care of themselves.  I set up all of Zeke's clothes in the downstairs bathroom, pull him out of the bunk bed with his head covered in "Froggy," and carry him in total darkness.  He hates the light first thing in the morning.  After he's gone, the girls can turn on all the lights.  I want them completely dressed, including shoes, before they sit down to breakfast. And I MAKE breakfast.  Everyday.  Like real food.  Not some pop-tart either.  My kids are mostly vegetarian and I like to send them off with a belly full of protein because I know the rest of the day is nothing but carbs, carbs, carbs.  Once they are settled, I announce:

"You people owe me $50 dollars."

I like to say whacked out crazy things to my kids just to see how they're going to respond.  For some reason, this doesn't get much of a response, so I say it again.

"That's right.  You heard me.  You people owe me $50 dollars."

This time they are looking at me like I am out of my mind.  So I explain.

"Last night.  While you were all acting crazy right before bedtime and I had to spend an extra hour settling you down, someone stole my cell phone right out of the car."

This is why I left my cell phone where they can see it.  Right away, they want to hear the story.  This is what we do at my house.  Mama, tell us the story of how you got fired from that one job.  Mama, tell us the story of how you just filled in the blanks when you were tested in third grade and they tried to put you in the special ed class. (This is a popular story lately, as they are all about to embark on Iowa Exams.) Mama, tell us the story of your first boyfriend, you first girlfriend.  Mama, tell us the story of how you met Ema.  Mama, tell us the story of how you sold all of your belongings in a yard sale.  Tell the story of my birth.  Tell the story of how you ran away from home.

So I told them.  About how I discovered it missing.  How I posted on FB.  How everybody sent text messages to my phone.  They wanted me to read the messages.  This greatly impressed them.  How the thief called me.  How I drove away while they were sleeping and retrieved it.   But then we came back to the issue at hand; I told them I never would have had my cell phone stolen if they had all been behaving ergo they owe me $50.

This brought a howl of protest.  They wanted to know why I would pay such a high reward.  Their personalities show up in their defense.  The Oldest uses critical thinking skills to argue that I am the one who forgot the cell phone out in the car in the first place, so I should pay.  Practical Scarlett says I should never pay a reward to a thief.  Georgia, ever wanting to please each person, lobbies to pay only half.  And Zeke just shrugs, I don't have that kind of money.

"Of course I'm not going to make you pay me.  It's done.  Get your back packs and help me load the car."

For some reason, Scarlett and I ended up on the second floor together again.  I have a giant clear plastic box sitting on the floor below my linen closet.  It is full of everything that should be organized into a medicine cabinet and extra stuff that can probably take up a shelf of the closet too.  Band aids.  Kids' medicine. Make up.  Cotton balls.  Nail polish.  The list goes on.  I'm sitting at the top of the steps, in the same place from the night before when the madness peaked.  Scarlett comes around the same corner.  I stop her and say:

"Look at this box.  Do you know what all this stuff is and why it's still sitting here?"

She shakes her head, "Why don't you just put it away?"

"It's still sitting here because I don't care.  I don't mind it being there.  I step over it.  It's been there since we moved in and someday eventually I'll get around to putting it all away but for now it doesn't bother me.  Look around at the rest of this house.  Now, I want you to imagine Ema living with someone who doesn't care how long a box of junk sits in the middle of the hallway.  And I want you to imagine me living with someone who is always making a big deal about everything being all organized and put away.  I'm not saying this is the only reason we're not together anymore, but I want you to take a look at my house and take a look at her house and understand there were ways I was trying to be when I was with her that were not right for me and all of those problems were there way way way before Amy came along.  Come here."

She came over to me and sat on my lap at the top of the steps.  She leaned on me and sucked her finger.  She's eight years old and she still sucks her finger at my house.  I cannot get her to stop.  She does not suck her finger at Eva's house and I don't know if that means I'm a terrible mother or if it means she knows I don't judge her.  Whatever it is, she won't stop sucking for me.

I wonder:  If we were still together and all living under the same roof, would the finger sucking have stopped altogether a long time ago?  How has the divorce affected our daughter's palette?  In my head, I go on and on with every consequence and scenario.  I spent a lot of time with her parents.  If we were still together, would the kids be spending more time with their grandparents?  How do the kids feel about promises?  Is there ever any way they will ever believe anyone's promise?  I know I wouldn't.

"I want you to know I heard what you said last night and even though I had to send you to bed, I'm thinking about how to explain things to you.  I am the way I am and I am not better than Ema and she is not better than me.  But we're different and our differences made it difficult to stay together.  I'm the one who asked for a divorce first.  We tried for a little bit to work it out.  THEN Amy came along.  I know it seems like we told you about the divorce and Amy was there at the same time,  but stuff happened way before and we weren't telling any five year olds about it. I appreciate how Amy stuck around through what must have been a really hard time for Ema, and I appreciate how she helps us take care of you.  But I want you to know I am sorry that we didn't try harder. We owed it to you to try harder.  I really wish you didn't have to live in different houses but I will try to work as hard as I can to make things easier for you, OK?"

Nearly everyday my kids find a way to remind me how much divorce sucks.  Don't do it, people.  I mean it. Penelope Trunk explains how I view divorce today HERE.  It was really hard work to stay together, but I am here to report that the work grows exponentially once the parents are apart.  I grapple all the time with the long term sadness and trying to figure out if they're going to have a lingering inability to connect to other people.

I don't yet know how this story ends yet.  There isn't some uplifting spiritual message at the end of every blog.  I'm still in the thick of things so I can't yet see how all of my mistakes and regrets are somehow "meant to be" great learning experiences.  Tell it to the kids who live in two houses so therefore have no real home.

Stolen Cell Phone, Part 1

I parked my car on the street that night because there was too much snow and ice in my driveway.  When I got inside, I tossed my keys into the key spot and felt for my cell but realized I must have left it in the little notch in my driver's side door.  The cell phone spot.  But the shenigans with my four kids started and I decided to get it after I put them to bed.

"It's time for Bedtime Business," I announced.  Right away the meltdown.  We had just ended a three hour drive from Pittsburgh where we spent three days at my sister's house for Christmas celebrations, several hours of Minecraft with cousin Tyler, no protein, lots of sugar, a snow storm, and No Ema.  Their Other Mom.  Who I divorced four years ago just as we were about to cross the finish line of raising triplets (who are not really triplets) heading into kindergarten.  We do a kind of Shared Parenting which involves the kids seeing both of us every day (their choice) and her doing Jewish High Holidays and me doing Christmas With Cousin Tyler.

Scarlett always gets right down to business.  Even though she's only 8, I'm pretty sure she could maintain her own apartment and find gainful employment.  I told Georgia ten times PLEASE get your pajamas on.  Zeke was figuring out how to hang from the inside of the stairwell.  Stella, the oldest who survived the onslaught of three babies ruining her perfect existence with Mama and Ema, decided to force me down on the floor at the top of the stairs, sat on my lap, and started wailing, "I MISS EMA!!!!!!" And more sobbing.

I'm holding her.  I'm consoling her.  "I know, honey, it's been four days since you last saw Ema" while "GEORGIA, why are you still wearing your clothes?" and "I get it, it's really hard to live without us I really wish you didn't have to" and "ZEKE, please get down from there you are not a cat" to "I miss her too" trying to make her laugh "Just imagine what it's like for me, you haven't talked to her for three days, I haven't really gotten to talk to her for three years" and Stella starts to giggle when Scarlett comes flying around the corner with "I bet we wouldn't have to live in different houses and you and Ema would still be together if Amy hadn't come along."

ok.  You know that moment in the movie when all the stuff is flying around in a hurricane or hail of bullets and action and everything feels like it comes to a complete stop but still goes in slow motion?  That.

Up until then I handled everything flying at me (except maybe the cell phone left out in the car) and just as we neared my breaking point, the exact moment when I needed to be my most grown up self, the mature and controlled one of the bunch came up with surest way to make me lose it.  They all stopped.  They all knew.  They all waited to see how I was going to react.

I held up my finger and said, "Scarlett, .....(and in my head a thousand voices roared forth with I TOLD YOU SO to Eva because I did tell her not to replace me so quickly and when Amy started spending the night a few weeks after we informed them of divorce, I TOLD YOU SO, and how hard is it for me to disabuse them of the notion that It's All Amy's Fault because oh my lord I don't want them to ever know how awful I behaved at the end of our marriage how I had another girlfriend too I just didn't bring her around but I can't hide the truth I can't lie even though sometimes I believe exactly what she just said I believe if only people had waited until we were really done and even though everything probably would have turned out divorce and broken we'll never know because we were both under duress and anyone who moves in on a marriage under duress is a selfish asshole in my book especially when I look into the eyes of our children and it's frustrating to accept that what happened is exactly what's supposed to happen but if only).....Scarlett, there is a lot more to this story you don't know, honey, and some day Ema and I will be able to explain everything to you but right now we have to get ready for bed."

From there everything went into a rush to bed.  I had the one eye brow permanently raised.  They knew not to mess around anymore.  Shove to bed.  No story.  Kiss.  Slam the door.  Repeat three times.  And then I stopped in the hallway.  Counted to ten.  Took a deep breath.  This is how you deal with having 4 children.  You have to get yourself alone, count to ten, take deep breaths.  And then.  Open the doors again, sit down in the hallway so they can all hear, and announce, "The Hobbit, Chapter Ten."

You may be exhausted.  You may be on your very last nerve.  It may be all their fault that things are such a mess.  But you are not allowed to stop parenting.

After another hour of story time, I finally closed each door.  I wanted to text Eva we made it home safely from Pittsburgh but when I got to the car, my cell was gone.  Stolen.

God I love FB #1

I am fascinated with how FB changes the nature of relationships, the definition of friendship, and how we create new pathways to create community.  Or family.  

Recently I had something strange happen: I got a “notification” for my Timeline that “needs review.”  A relative of my First Wife sent me a "request" to "add" myself to their "list of family members" on their FB page.  Like, last week. 2.5 years after divorce settlement.   I have to "approve this post" for my Timeline. Or I can click “dismiss” and it will go away.   And if I click "approve," then I have to choose from a list of titles for this relative.  

When the notification first appeared, I thought: Surely this is a glitch in The Matrix; the request MUST have been sent three years ago and only now somehow made it through.  

My next thought was more optimistic:  Maybe this person has been reading my writings about Loss and Regret and now wants to send me a message that I am still loved and accepted.  

This is Very Optimistic.  

I immediately called a friend, What the heck am I supposed to do?  Approve? Click Whatever-in-law? Send them a message asking WTH? Ignore it? Pretend I never saw it?  She told me before I do anything, I might want to write about it.

In Law.  I was once at a party at my inlaw’s house and there was this rabbi-type friend of the family who kept telling me I should call Sam and Gigi my Not-In-Laws.  Because my marriage is not recognized within the confines of the actual law.  He repeated his “joke.”  I guess since I didn't display the proper amount of amusement, he thought I didn’t get it.  I got it.  I was not amused.  I still fail to see how existing outside the boundaries of societal law is amusing in any context.  

Mother-in-law.  Father-in-law.  Sister-in-law.  Brother-in-law. Their love and their demonstrations of love for our little gay family made it easy to simply let go of the “in-law” part anyways. They were my mother, father, sister, brother. Does the distance in time and space during two point five years negate the relationship of family of eleven years?

When I was eleven, a wonderful, loving aunt divorced my father's brother.  Her departure and their custody battle erased her from my family.  She was ripped from the photo albums.  My mother instructed me to pretend I did not know her if I ran into her at the mall. (Shunning at the mall = worst revenge ever)  But FB brought her back to me and I don’t care what anyone says, she will always be my Aunt Patty.  The fact that I walked directly in her shoes as an adult magnifies my loss as a child.  Why did I have to let her go?  Why did I have to lose out on an extremely meaningful relationship throughout my teens?  I spent a lot of time so worried over my uncle and my cousin, I did not even recognize my own loss.  I bet I really could have leaned on my Aunt Patty during the years when I struggled with my self-acceptance.  She was a hippie who made a lot of mistakes and I don’t care what anybody says - we need those people in our lives.  But, “everything happens for a reason,” so I am grateful she is here today, inspiring me to (self) forgiveness and understanding. Still. I hate that separation rips everyone apart and not just the two stupid people getting the divorce.

Needs Review.  FB reminds me. I find I am just leaving the request there.  So I can visit it from time to time.  Keep it for myself.  I am an adopted child and people always ask me, Why don’t you try to find your biological mother, aren’t you curious?  The answer is obvious to me:  I cannot handle being rejected a second time.  If I click “approve” and the person on the other side of FB Land realizes their error and then erases the post, I’m pretty sure it will trigger all those adopted child, rejected child feelings.  So I keep it.  I know it’s not the real world but at least in some alternative, parallel Facebook Universe, she is still my Aunt Patty and I am still her niece.  And he is still my Father (not-in-law).